Distant Horizon
by R Amythest
Summary: You're free to love and free to live until you stop short of your promise to Fate. Yes, Yami Bakura, Ryou is dead... [One-Shot, DeathFic] [Birthday Gift for Sailor Millennium]


**Warnings**: PG-13 for Mild Language, Death

**Authoress's Notes:** (No, you don't have to read this if you don't want to. The fic begins after the first horizontal rule AKA grey line thing.)

Whee. Giftfic for Amara Kirei, as it is her 18th birthday (2/9/05)! (Known on as Sailor Millennium here on Fanfiction(dot)net.) Happy birthday, 'Mara-chan! This takes place after Battle City, and contains some mild spoilers if you haven't read/watched that far.

Sorry, it's not a sweet romance fic like I INTENDED (The authoress glares at muses.) to write... it's more of a suspense weird dark kinda thing.

Anonymous Muse glares from the dark and screams, "ANONYMOUS MUSE! What kind of name is THAT? And WHY are we not in script format? ... Oh, and by the way, we never do what you intend for us to do, remember?"

...Shut up. (The authoress proceeds to nail Anonymous Muse into a half-eaten tin of tuna.) And the paragraph form is to prevent this from being taken off the world of Plus, it annoys the heck out of Anonymous Muse. That's always good.

Anonymous Muse Number Two watches, before stating rather monotonously, "Yu-Gi-Oh does not belong to R Amythest. Yu-Gi-Oh belongs to Kazuki Takahashi. Yu-Gi-Oh does not belong to Sailor Millennium. Yu-Gi-Oh belongs to Kazuki Takahashi. Yu-Gi-Oh does not..."

There is a flash, and Anonymous Muse Number Two blinks, keeping his notecards from falling, and again stating monotonously, "Yu-Gi-Oh does not belong to Yami Yugi. Yu-Gi-Oh belongs to Yami Bakura. Yu-Gi-Oh does not belong to Anonymous Muse. Yu-Gi-Oh belongs to Yami Bakura. Yu-Gi-Oh does not belong to Anonymous Muse Number Two. Yu-Gi-Oh belongs..."

Backstage, a clear TWAP, CRASH, and shout of "IF I GET SUED, YOU'RE PAYING FOR IT!" is heard before a silver-haired evil-looking male steps out, looking rather annoyed.

There is a screech before a hyper manly girl's voice shouts, "YU-GI-OH AND ALL ITS CHARACTERS BELONG TO KAZUKI TAKAHASHI, R AMYTHEST CLAIMS THE PLOT. R AMYTHEST IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY MENTAL DAMAGE TO AUDIENCE OR STAFF" – backstage, a cough can be heard – "NOR HER SWOLLEN LYMPH GLANDS THAT MAKE IT IMPOSSIBLE TO SWALLOW IN BETWEEN WORDS AT THIS MOMENT. NOW PLEASE IGNORE THOSE IDIOT MUSES" – cursing can be heard – "AND ENJOY THE FANFICTION!"

Meanwhile, the authoress begs the aforementioned silver-haired evil-looking male to let her out of the microphone.

* * *

_Distant Horizon_

by R Amythest

* * *

Even as things were, he still stood there, unwavering. He stood under the stars, his form a pale imitation of death's dark shadow. His eyes were their normal size; he would not open them more in surprise nor would he close them in defeat.

Those eyes were brown. His hikari had always told him that they belied nothing. Whenever he would remember things, things he dared not to discuss, they would mist away beyond the buildings, beyond the trees so far away in the countryside, and lock onto the horizon. It was the same horizon he had seen long ago, with those same brown eyes.

Those eyes were narrowed. It was from ages of glaring, lore would say. He would strike fear into others' hearts, shun them with uncaring eyes, leave their insides frozen, forgetful, dazed from the disks so solid and cold. Should they be tangible, they would be the very epitome of hostitility.

Those eyes were stoic. They would not show a single thing that he would feel. He felt. He was as human as any other. But unlike his softer hikari, they were aged and hardened. They would not show – or betray – his heart.

But those same eyes were warm. They could be watchful, protective, and caring, as they were malicious. They could look across a field of flowers and enjoy the warm breeze – a rare one that swept halfway around the world from his motherland. They could look with the same affection to the present as the past. But only one could find this warm oasis; his hikari knew every crevice of his yami, whether he wished to know or if he did not.

And in that warmth, those eyes bore sorrow. But it did not matter, for the only one who could read that sorrow... was dead.

He wanted revenge. He plunged into the darkness that enshrouded the corpse, screaming, "Who took my life, my hikari's life!" and a small voice would reply, though too far away to hear. His form was fading. He had but few hours to find the one who had killed his host, the one who had cared... and to reek his vengeance.

Wandering a path that many took but returned insane, he walked through the alleys of Domino. Dusk had already set into streets, dark, misty and unyielding. He turned a corner, and at the end of the path stood a familiar building. Kame Game Shop. The lights flickered with the lightning outside, and he smiled sadistically. Were they the ones?

He withdrew his blade. With a grin playing on his face, he entered.

The coldness of his eyes was dancing in vivid circles; none of it was melted tears, none of it was kindly warmth... The pharaoh realized this as the thief leaned against the entrance, playing with the dagger with a single hand, his other on the ring. But the wise pharaoh could see that he was fading.

Before the pharaoh could comment, the silver-haired thief dove at him, dagger in hand. The fading form had the other pinned against the wall, dagger to the restrained one's neck, and the attacker screamed, "Yami Yugi, I demand to know who killed my hikari!"

The pharaoh struggled for a moment, attempted to reason calmly, "I do not know; Yami Bakura, calm down, I'm sure tha—"

"Silence, you," he growled, making three quick, graceful slashes across the pharaoh's neck. But as much as he longed to see the splash of blood, he could find one. Not a drop of crimson tainted the blade, nor the wall behind the pharaoh. Astonished, he was caught off guard as the pharaoh overpowered him and released himself from the wall.

But innocents were entering the room. The five friends of the pharaoh... the naïve host, the blonde idiot, the brunette idiot, the one who loved dice, and the brunette who fancied the pharaoh.

"I see your trick, _pharaoh_," he growled, rising again. The five that entered froze at the sight of him, whispering amongst themselves. "Of course, you cannot be damaged in _that_ form. Then... they shall do."

The pharaoh cried out "Stop!" in all his righteous glory, reaching out with a single hand to grasp the thief's arm, but it was easily eluded. Five slashes, each at a throat, satisfied him, but the lack of liquid did not.

The five puzzled comrades eyed him, who was hysterical on the floor. Murmurs of "What the hell is going on?" and "Who was his assassin?" escaped softly from his lips, almost so that they were unheard. The naïve one hesitated, then approached him for a moment.

"I don't know what happened," he tread carefully, "but maybe we can help..."

"You cannot," was the thief's reply, and with a crazed look and the shatter of the rear windowpanes, he remained no more on their carpet.

His hands trembled slightly as he traced each hand with the knife, finger by skilled finger. He felt the coolness; the knife was tangible. He pressed with the sharp point lightly into his smallest finger, watching as blood came. So then, why could he not kill them...?

It mattered not. He came to the Egyptian's home. He may be the one to know, and if he did not, he would pay for his ignorance. Opening the front door was a simple gesture of a twist of the point of his dagger.

But the seer first. The seer was waiting for him in that doorway. "Thief Bakura," she said softly. "So the day has come for Fate to spite you..."

"S-Shut up!" he growled, thrusting it into her soft chest. It entered without resistance and was withdrawn without a scratch to her body. "I don't care if you're Malik's sister, you WON'T get in my way!" Despite his earlier predictions, he still felt disappointment as the seer was unscathed from his thrust.

"You may not wish to do so," she advised. "And this quickness with the blade may not result in what you wish for."

"I won't listen to you," he scoffed, stabbing her with no effect over and over. "Now let me through! My patience is wearing thin!"

The seer shook her head in a hopeless gesture, closing her hand around the dagger and pulling it out of the thief's hand easily. He was dismayed to find that, despite the fact that seer had grabbed it by its point, her hand was not wounded. "Now will you listen? I know one who knows of the killer..."

"H-How do you know about that!"

She gave a soft sigh, staring up at the sky, where the clouds began to bear a rosy pigment. "My tauk(1) may be gone, but her spirit still lingers near me. Fate..."

Yes. Fate. He stared her down with impatience. "Where can I find her?"

"Look for the farthest in your view; in your eyes and in your heart, what may be told to your sorrow lies within where the dawn begins and the twilight ends..."

The thief had heard this before... before her premature leave, she had sung him a lullaby, a sweet tune...

"_I'll be waiting for you,  
__My dearest,  
__Where the dawn begins,  
__And the twilight ends,  
__I'll be waiting for you,  
__My dearest..."_

The warmth embrace of his mother had not yet faded before she would give him a good-night's kiss on a cheek. When her breath would linger on one side of his face, she would whisper, "At that distant horizon, that truly never comes..."

He did not know why, but the trip to the horizon that would never be caught seemed unearthly short. Perhaps because, in a sense, it was because he had finally felt calm and peaceful for the first time since the afternoon, even if it was in a veiled, distant memory.

But the peace quickly left him as he spotted a silhouette. Fate was waiting for him at that horizon.

"Tell me," he demanded, with no heed to the spirit's class. "Who killed him?"

But Fate was a fickle creature and she gave him a sad, unforgiving smile. "Yami Bakura – it has been a long time since the last time I had confronted you, hasn't it? And what did I leave you with? A promise not to kill. You did once, and the Ring was your punishment. But it seemed that you had not learned."

"Fate," he drawled, "I have little patience for you." The dawn was coming, the last figments of his soul was fading, and a piece of his mind was already trapped into that cold prison. "Out with it."

She continued, undisturbed. "The second time, with your first host, you had killed again. And so, I sealed you into the Ring, and there you remained for several thousand years." She paused, nonchalantly taking a sip of tea. Yami Bakura waited tensely. The first few sunbeams rose above the mountains, casting shadows on Fate's face, shining straight through his. "But it seemed that it was not punishment enough. You still had not learned." She drank the rest of her tea, tossing the teacup up to vaporize into the air. "So now, I have played opportunist as you had long ago. I had to use your attachment."

"You were willing to harm an innocent life to do so," he murmured darkly, in a low, growling voice.

Fate smiled regretfully at the alley. "Yes, in a sense, I'm lowering myself to your level, and it is something I am sorry for. But there was no other way to harm you. Had I imprisoned you again, you would have slept knowing that your love was safe – you would feel security, and you would not regret killing in this life. You would kill again."

Half the sun had risen above the mountains now, and he could feel his breath leaving him. "I have been punished," he replied, "now, please, tell me who killed my hikari?"

She paused. "Well, that answer could vary. Initially, lying in the alley, he wasn't quite dead."

He was shocked at this, and this time he took a step back, his normally emotionless eyes widening. "He wasn't? Is he still alive?"

Fate shook her head and smiled demonically. "Nooope. If you had only learned your lesson then, I would've spared him and let you live in peace. But how many have you tried to kill in the past hour, seeing revenge? Yugi, Joey, Tristan, Anzu, Kaiba, Ryouji, Isis..." Her face was embedded with hatred now, all of it aimed at the disappearing ghost. "You would never submit to my wishes."

"What does this mean!"

She smiled and winked at him as his form started shining from the bottom, the last of his body disappearing. "Everything you did to them... every attempt to kill them... was transferred to the wounded body of your hikari." She leaned forward, pinching his cheeks between her thumb and forefinger. "You killed him. You – yes, you – killed Ryou Bakura."

He was paralyzed at this, a stunned expression on his face. Fate let go of his head, watching as the last of him disappeared into the Ring. "You can ponder this for the rest of your immortal existence. The rest of your existence spent forever in the Ring."

The last he saw of the world, the cruel final image imbedded into his eyes, was Fate's widening sadistic grin, against that increasingly distant horizon.

* * *

(1)Tauk is the Japanese name for what the English Dub calls "necklace".

* * *

**Endnotes:** Pardon the oddness of the writing style. I wrote this with a headache and a throat infection at about 11 PM, so I suppose I wasn't quite in the right state of mind.(The authoress grins crazily.) And as for the equally bizarre authoress's notes up there, it's a tradition. Now, Yami Bakura, PLEASE let me out of the microphone. 

Yami Bakura smirks and growls, "Never."

Horrible screeches fill the stage, leaving the audience with an odd impression that it meant "Review".


End file.
